February Fifteenth
by kitcat234
Summary: A chance meeting leads to an evening they never expected to be enjoyable. Prompt: Strawberries, onions, garlic, "Potions are underrated," & "Try again." One-shot. Winner of the Twin Exchange's Monthly Challenge: February 2012.


**Author's Note: **Not Rowling. Done for the Twin Exchange's February challenge. Prompt: Strawberries, onions, garlic, "Potions are underrated," and "Try again." _I would really appreciate your vote!_

.

.

.

Hermione loathed Valentine's Day. Abhorred. Detested. Abominated. Execrated. Whatever you wanted to call it, she _hated_ it.

She hated the fact that a week into January, every store started decorating for it, replacing all their little fat Santa Clauses and holly wreaths with all things pink. She hated the pink and red hearts that littered every store front, shop window, and front office of every building she went into. She hated how she couldn't go into a sweet shop without being bombarded with offers from the owner regarding the newest deals on chocolates and those chalk-like little heart candies that said things like _Be Mine_. All of these irritations could be dealt with, though, but there was one thing that Hermione hated over all of these: the responses she got when she said she did not like Valentine's Day. Hermione had determined that there were four reactions she could get when she would respond to the ever-popular question of "So what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" There was the occasional, "Blimey! Me too! I can't stand it!" There was the oft-heard, "Oh, okay," which easily dismissed the topic. There was the very common, "Why? It's so much fun!" But the one she truly hated was, "Oh, it's because you're single, isn't it?"

If she heard that _one more time_, she was going to scream. No one ever bothered to ask her _why_ she hated Valentine's Day. No, they just assumed she hated it because she was not in a relationship like many of her friends. "Oh," they would say in a tone that was almost condescending. Their lips would purse and they would look down at her, their expression screaming _Oh how sad. Poor Hermione is alone and bitter about it_. "It's because you're single, isn't it?" they would ask pityingly, giving her that closed-lipped half-smile that so clearly showed that they thought she was just being petulant. Hermione would roll her eyes and bite the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to shout at them. It was insulting, really. The fact that they thought she was just lonely and upset showed how little they knew about her. She had always been a strong person, someone who didn't need a partner to succeed or be happy. She was an independent thinker, someone who scoffed at the parasitical relationships and rolled her eyes when she heard girls go on and on about how their boyfriend was this, that, and the other thing, and how they just loved him _so_ much. Hermione knew there were real loves, but those relationships were far from it. Harry and Ginny had a real love, for three years now, actually. They had the right kind of relationship, the kind where they loved being together, but could function normally when they were apart. There was no total codependence, but rather a collaboration of mind and heart. They were friends first and a couple second, and dealt with their issues maturely and logically. That was the kind of relationship Hermione was waiting for, and the fact that there was a made-up holiday that favored those in a couple did not make her feel as though she needed to jump into a shallow relationship just to have someone with whom she could celebrate Valentine's Day.

Unfortunately, the day had rolled around and had landed squarely at the end of her already-crazy week. Her job as a Healer at Saint Mungo's was not an easy job. She had moved up the ranks from a nurse to a full-fledged Healer in the past year and a half. After spending two weeks in each of the wards, she had settled into a position on the third floor, which addressed poisoning by both potions and plants. Unfortunately, it was always around the holidays that her ward and the spell damage ward become war zones. Christmas was a flurry of poisoning from vindictive little mistletoe clumps that liked to bite those who tried to avoid the required kiss, while New Year's always held quite a lot of both alcohol poisoning as well as nasty slips as people hurriedly brewed different potions to try to increase their looks, luck, et cetera for the start of the new year. Valentine's Day was always a mess in her ward, as many patients were shuttled between Spell Damage, which was full of patients bearing the signs of spurned lovers, Artefact Accidents, which housed the results of cursed presents, most commonly jewelry, and Potions and Plant Poisoning, which held a surprising amount of people sick from chocolate-dipped strawberries injected with nasty potions. It was almost time for her to clock out, and she had already had to work with seven patients who had been knocked out or jinxed after receiving spiked flower bouquets and twenty patients suffering from overly strong or poorly brewed Love Potions.

"Ms. Fenworth, please sit down."

"You're just so beautiful. Did you know that?" asked the young woman a few years older than Hermione, staring at her Healer with her huge green eyes, a simpering smile on her face. Hermione was forcefully reminded of Harry's story of Ron suffering from an overly strong Love Potion in their sixth year. This one, although correctly brewed, had been left for two weeks before Ms. Fenworth had found it, and Hermione would bet her life that it had been store-bought from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. In her time at St. Mungo's, she had seen a myriad of bad results from people using the twins' products incorrectly, including people abusing the Daydream Charms and not being able to function normally due to being stuck in the dream for longer than the half hour promised. Hermione sighed and looked through the examination room's potions cabinet.

"Ah, here we go," she said as she pulled down a black bottle. She poured a jigger of the potion and handed it to the young woman, who drank it happily. Her eyes suddenly came into focus and she looked around, confused.

"Where am I?"

"Hello, Ms. Fenworth. You're at St. Mungo's. You were given an overly strong love potion. I would be more careful about eating presents from anonymous admirers." The woman smiled appreciatively if not slightly embarrassedly and walked out as Hermione checked her watch. "Finally!" Hermione whispered to herself. She rushed from the room, headed to the nurse's station to check out, and hurried to grab her bag.

.

.

.

"You have _got_ to be joking!" She looked into her icebox and saw nothing but milk, a hunk of Swiss cheese, half of a yellow onion, some very sad looking arugula, two cloves of garlic, and two potion bottles for when she got sick. Here she was, starving, and with nothing in her flat that was worth anything close to a meal. She thought about going out to eat but, with a grimace, immediately shot that idea down. The last thing she needed was to get a table for one at some restaurant where the plates were covered with pink confetti. With a sigh, she picked up her coat from where it lay over the top of the sofa and headed out the door.

She arrived at the market and smiled slightly as she breathed in and out slowly. This was much better. As most people were out with their 'other half,' the store was practically empty, with one checker standing at his station, reading a book and drinking a bottle of fizzy drink. She grabbed a cart and slowly walked up and down the lines, occasionally stopping to read a label or grab a product. She turned the corner of the aisle, busy reading the label on a jar of tomato sauce when she bumped into someone rather forcefully. The jar went flying out of her hand and she felt that ice-cold jolt to her nerves that always happened when a sharp shock hit. As she watched the jar soar to the floor, time seemed to slow down, as if prolonging her fear that she wouldn't be able to save it before it hit the floor and shattered, staining the floor red. Suddenly, a hand shot out and caught the jar with the quick reflexes of a Quidditch player. She looked up to see George Weasley holding the jar, a surprised smile on his face.

"Well, hello Hermione," he said with an easy grin. "Reading while you walk is a hazard, you know."

"Hello George," she replied, taking the jar he handed her. "So sorry about that. Long day."

He sighed. "You're telling me. Blimey, I hate Valentine's Day." She looked up from putting the jar in the canvas bag that hung from her shoulder, surprised. "And don't you dare say it's because I'm not with anyone, because that's bollocks."

She looked at the frown marring his face and grinned. "So I'm guessing you've been hearing that a lot too lately."

"You as well?"

"Indeed," she said with a hint of frustration. "By the way, I suppose I have you to thank for all the overly strong Love Potions I had to deal with a work today."

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head exasperatedly. "That's Zonko's fault. He caught on to some of our best-selling inventions and decided to take a crack at his own versions of them. That bloke might have been one of my biggest heroes growing up, but he can't brew up a proper Love Potion for anything." He paused and tilted his head as he surveyed her. "What are you doing here?"

"Training dragons," she replied sarcastically.

He mock-glared at her for a moment before responding. "That's not what I meant and you know it." She laughed. "No, I mean, why are you, of all people, out shopping by yourself on Valentine's Day."

"When you say it like that, you make me sound so pathetic," she teased. "Honestly, I've been so busy at work that I forgot to shop earlier this week and now I'm out of food."

"Same here." He paused and bit his lip, thinking, before he spoke up. "Would it be crazy to suggest that we do something together tonight?"

"George Weasley, are you trying to ask me out on Valentine's Day?" she asked, shocked.

"No! Definitely not!" he replied hurriedly.

"Try again," she coaxed, trying not to laugh as he flushed bright red, finally realizing how rude he had sounded.

"I mean, oh shuttup! I meant that because both of us seem to have absolutely nothing to do, so we can hate Valentine's Day together!"

"That is completely mad, George." She saw his smile fall slightly and grinned. "But it somehow sounds just perfect."

He grinned at her. "Brilliant. Your place or mine?"

.

.

.

Hermione laughed as she twirled her angel hair pasta around her fork, bringing it to her mouth as George finished drinking and restarted his sentence.

"It's like, no matter what I do or how large I write it on the label, people always screw up those love potions!" He twirled his pasta and brought the fork up towards his mouth. "I just feel like saying 'Either read the instructions, or don't bloody buy it!'" He waved his fork emphatically and the pasta shot across the table, just missing Hermione's head before landing on the floor behind her. His eyes widened in embarrassment and he grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I'll clean that up." He picked up his wand and the streaky red mess on Hermione's floor vanished a few seconds later. "I'm telling you, potions are underrated and underappreciated!"

"You're quite right," said Hermione. "People think they can just throw some ingredients in a cauldron and it'll all work out. They could not be more wrong. But I suppose I can't whinge too much; fixing people's screw-ups is my job. Well, that and worrying about killer plants."

"Yes, and how goes the killer plants and potions business these days?" George asked with a grin.

"About as well as your joke shop," Hermione replied with a smile.

"Was that a shot or an honest comparison?" he asked, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed her. She just grinned in response.

.

.

.

Hermione sat cross-legged on her sofa, facing George, who sat diagonal, his legs stretched out onto her coffee table but his torso facing her.

"The worst response I've gotten?" he repeated. "Probably the lovely 'It's because you're single, isn't it?' That one's a favorite. You?"

"I think the worst response I've gotten was someone giving me a pitying look, patting my shoulder, and telling me 'You'll find someone eventually.'"

George hissed in pain and grimaced. "Oh, that's just rude, that is. Okay, how about the creepiest pick-up line you've ever had used on you?"

Hermione laughed. "Ooh…there are just so many bad ones. Err…probably the 'Is there a mirror in your pocket, because I can see me in your trousers.'"

George snorted. "Someone actually used that on you? You're kidding!"

"Sadly, no. I was in a bar and he was highly intoxicated."

"What was your response?"

"I told him I was surprised he was so interested about the contents of my trousers, as he should have been more worried about the lack of anything in his own," replied Hermione with an evil grin, a faint note of pride in her voice.

George howled with laughter, laughing so hard that tears started running down his cheeks. Hermione began to laugh as well, until they were both doubled over, clutching their stomachs. "That," he wheezed, "is bloody brilliant. That deserves a medal or something."

"Why thank you," said Hermione, her cheeks pink from laughing. "Has anyone ever used a line on you?"

"Umm…I've gotten the 'Which twin are you?' so often it's ridiculous, but nothing as marvelous as yours. How about the weirdest thing to happen to you on Valentine's Day?"

Hermione shook her head as she raised her eyebrows. "Oh, there are so many choices. Err…well, probably today's events would be the weirdest. I received fifteen proposals today." George's eyebrows raised. "Nine were from men, and six were from women."

George burst into renewed laughter. "Oh, that's just fantastic! What did you say?"

"It varied, usually that I was married already or that their husband or wife would not appreciate me saying 'yes'," she said with a grin.

"Well," said George in a voice appropriate for a radio announcer, "I take your fifteen proposals and raise you 'finding your best mate and your female coworker in a…ahem…compromising position.'" Hermione's eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. "On my desk," he finished.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if in pain. "Oh god, that's horrible! What happened? Were they completely mortified? I'd be!"

A wicked grin spread across George's face. "Hold on, let me just take a second to picture Miss Head Girl shagging someone on a desk in the middle of business hours," he teased, his expression one of extreme concentration.

Her mouth fell open in shock and she swatted him as she laughed. "George Weasley! You're terrible!"

"That's not what I usually hear," he said, winking roguishly.

She laughed and rolled her eyes.

.

.

.

They were in the middle of talking when the clock on Hermione's wall began to chime. They both looked over, surprised.

"Wow, midnight already?" asked George, surprised.

"Apparently! We talked for an awfully long time, didn't we?" said Hermione, looking at the clock.

Suddenly, George leaned forward, his left hand cupping her face, and kissed her gently on the lips. Hermione froze for a moment, caught off guard, before she kissed back, her hand somehow finding its way to the back of his head, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They broke apart a minute or two later and Hermione looked at George curiously as she caught her breath.

"What was that all about?"

He grinned and gestured towards the clock. "I'd never let myself squander a first kiss on such loathsome holiday. But February 15th? Now that seems like a right good time to make a move."


End file.
